


“Smoke and Mirrors”

by Lady Day (day221b)



Category: Dresden Files (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, POV: Harry Dresden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-12
Updated: 2007-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/day221b/pseuds/Lady%20Day
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What If?” Missing/Extended Scene from "What About Bob?" that bridges the gap between “Bad Blood.”  Takes place directly after Morningway’s first death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Smoke and Mirrors”

**Author's Note:**

> Strictly Television 'verse.  
> Beta'd for grammar by the lovely and talented goodiesfan">Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> Rating: R  
> Word Count: ~ over 5,000  
> Warnings: Dark themes, Cursing, Angst, Confusion and Betrayal with possible leanings toward OOCishness and dramatic flair.  
> Spoilers: “Birds of a Feather,” “Bad Blood,” and "What About Bob?"  
> Disclaimer: The Dresden Files belongs to Jim Butcher. I own nothing and I make no money. This is purely done as a labor of love.
> 
> \---------------  
> Additional: It just occurred to me (too late!) as I post this that I haven’t seen the pilot episode and am missing a couple of episodes along the way that may go against Television’s canon. I don’t seem to know if the series has dealt with the issue of how Bob’s skull actually came to be “entrusted” into Harry’s care. Please accept my apologies if this story goes against what we currently know of the TV ‘verse and consider it to be an alternate universe if that’s the case.  
> \----------------

I looked down in shock at what lay sprawled on the floor. My own body ached from having the hall table flung at me. I bled from a jagged cut on my hand, and my thumb throbbed.

It beat in time with my heart, a reminder of the kind of power I'd used. I had a death grip on the doll. Wasn't so sure how I managed that one as I had no strength anywhere else.

"...and they will find you," Bob finished. I hadn't been paying attention to what he'd been saying.

"What have I done?”

I didn't really expected an answer to that. It was obvious to anyone with eyes to see.

My thoughts shifted and my mind caught up to what Bob had been telling me. My uncle was no ordinary man; he was a powerful wizard. The sudden loss of him would be sending out shockwaves from all sides. It would alert the High Council. They were coming for me.

“I gotta get out of here."

"No, Harry. You will remain where you are. Let them come. Fleeing would only be seen as an admission of your guilt. I’ll not see you punished because you hadn’t the sense to stay put. Nor will I have you held accountable for an accident."

It had been no accident.

I’d stalked my uncle into the hallway with a single-minded purpose. My sense memory could still feel him pressed against me as I'd slammed his upper body repeatedly against the wall. I'd thrown him to the floor - attacked him - snarled at him - sprayed spittle in my rage.

I’d flung terrible accusations at him. The memory of my accusations was made all the more chilling by their truth.

What did that matter now? I’d taken the doll and my father’s ring and I’d…

The fear in his eyes had been so real that it’d almost become a living, breathing thing between us. And now there was no life. There was no breath at all. Not in his eyes and not in him.

Words like “self-defense” and "blameless" were being thrown around by a ghostly presence.

I shook my head against those words that released me from guilt. I’d been like some wild thing. Justin had defended himself from me, not the other way around.

Bob couldn’t stop me. The table that I’d been struck with hadn’t stopped me.

How had I thought the confrontation with him would end?

Bob spoke rapidly - quietly - as he explained what I was to say when the enforcers arrived. "You forget, Harry. He would have killed you. This wasn’t your fault," he reasoned.

It was my fault. I’d just taken a life with the aid of black magic. My crime was horrible enough. It was enough to have me condemned to death, but it was made all the more serious by my choice in victim. I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around it.

How had it gotten so out of control so quickly?

Silence filled the room. Looking up, I found Bob eyeing me with an expression I couldn’t quite interpret. The look he was favoring me with was one I'd never seen before. There was something else, too. He looked at me as though he couldn’t quite believe what I’d become.

_'Join the club,'_ I thought. Truth be told, I couldn’t quite believe it myself. Yet the proof of my crime was lying there in front of me like some broken thing - a doll - it looked like a broken doll. "Oh, God..."

Both the ring and the doll dropped from my suddenly nerveless fingers.

I looked into Bob’s eyes; they looked old. He was old. In fact he was ancient by mortal standards. It wasn’t like it was news to me. It wasn’t exactly a new concept, but his eyes looked older than normal. What's more their color was off. The irises were a strange, faded kind of blue.

His eyes bugged out of their sockets in fear and what I could only define as panic. It wasn’t in his nature to be afraid. The fact that he was, terrified me like nothing else could.

My hand rose up of its own volition, beseeching him. “Don’t…” The words caught in my throat. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”

“I could never fear you, Harry," he answered. His words were spoken a little too gently. "But I am afraid for you. You must not linger on the floor. Pick yourself up. Find a chair and sit down.”

As weak as I was, I tried to obey him. I struggled to my feet, but immediately began swaying. Black stars danced a merry two-step across my vision and everything started to blur. I felt the pull of gravity and caught myself by grabbing hold of the wall before I fell over on my ass. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

Looking down, I noted the blood welling up on the back of my hand. It was my own blood. That fact held no comfort for me.

I relived the last moments leading up to the confrontation with my uncle. Something didn’t add up. I was overlooking an important piece of the puzzle. I looked over at Bob for help, and it came to me in a flash. He’d known what Justin had done. He tried to warn me, had even asked me to leave it alone.

“My...God,” I said. I was unable to get those two words out in one breath. My blinders were off and I was seeing him as though for the first time. “You helped him murder my father, didn’t you?”

I heard his sharp intake of breath, or semblance of it. He schooled his features against me; his eyes met mine with steely resolve.

“Didn’t you…” It was barely a whisper and no longer a question.

Whatever kind of defense he’d mustered against me vanished under the weight of my accusing stare. He looked across at me miserably.

I started to shake. “Of course, you did. How could I have been so stupid?” The last question was directed towards myself. Somewhere deep inside the hidden parts of me, I thought I might've always known. Only I’d never wanted to believe it.

Bob lowered his gaze from mine. He almost looked ashamed. Almost.

“Why?” I asked him, my voice breaking.

It would’ve been so easy for him to lay the blame at Justin's feet. All he had to tell me was that it’d been because my uncle had willed it of him. I needed for him to say that. Instead he remained silent.

I kept staring at him - spearing him with my gaze - believing that I was finally seeing him for what he really was. I wasn't liking what I saw. "You lied to me.”

"I withheld information from you. But I never lied, Harry."

"Lies of omission are still lies!" I shouted and pointed my accusations at him. "You knew all this time, Bob. All this time, you knew!" I felt like I was losing it. Losing him.

“I did what needed to be done.”

I advanced on him. My rage gave my body the strength it didn’t have to move. I’d opened the door to darkness with the murder of my uncle, and left it swinging wide open. I let Bob see what was coming for him.

It was like some domesticated, yet still wild beast with the first taste of blood on its lips. It was hungry. No, it was starving. _"Deceiver,"_ It whispered aloud.

It had used my voice.

He stood his ground. “I warned you in all the ways permitted me that I was not to be trusted.” He narrowed his eyes. “It was you who deceived yourself. It was you who believed my attention and humble teachings to be an act of friendship. I had no hand in it.”

“Humble teachings, my ass! You don’t give somebody that kind of knowledge and then expect them not to use it!" I shouted.

My mind replayed his words and it slowly began to register the whole of what he’d just said. “Christ, Bob," I added quietly. He for damn sure knew how to kick a guy when he was down. I felt like I'd been sucker punched in the gut, but his hurtful words had the power to bring me to my senses.

I backed down.

“There now,” he whispered, his expression softened. “Has your reason returned to you? Are we going to discuss this like two civilized adults or do you wish to continue matching me blow for blow?”

“What?” He just as much admitted that he’d never cared a hoot in hell about me. He brought me to my knees by his words even as I was left standing. I wondered why I hadn't fallen over.

The world swirled out of focus, and I grabbed hold of the wall again to keep my balance.

“Harry, you are unwell.”

Damn right I was unwell.

“You must sit down.”

I wished he’d stop telling me that. “What do you care?”

He rolled his eyes. “Do try to keep up. I had to find some way to get through to you. You try reaching beyond the threshold that separates us and into another plane of existence all the while knowing full well that once you get there you can affect nothing around you, but still have need of knocking someone upside the skull in order to bring them back to their senses. I doubt you’d fare much better. Let me tell you; it’s a real bitch."

I blinked, trying to decipher his meaning. “You mean it was a trick?”

“Of course, it was a trick. It was smoke and mirrors. An illusion with no substance nor basis in reality used to elicit a desired response. But I hardly need to waste my time explaining such a concept to you. Forgive me my ruse. Hurt feelings be damned, you were in danger and I reacted without thinking. I had to act fast in order to pull you away from the Darkness. It would swallow you whole if it could. I would employ any method or means necessary to prevent such an end.”

I didn’t answer, but watched him through blurred eyes.

“You’re injured. Come, we must retrieve the necessary items for healing.”

“I’m not using magic to try and fix myself.” Pausing to glance over at the body, I didn’t think I could ever use magic again.

“Then you may need a healer.” Bob’s figure moved. He appeared to be in one place then another as fast as quicksilver. It was making me dizzy.

“Dammit, Bob. Will you stop? You’re making me dizzy.”

“Stop, what? Stop talking? Stop moving? Harry, I’m not moving.”

My thoughts were jumbling up. “What were you saying?”

"We were discussing the fact that you required a healer."

“No, before that...” I struggled to think.

His damning words hit me all over again. I lowered my head into my hands. When I looked up, I was grinning. Only there was no humor behind it; the skin was stretched too tightly over bone. “I’m sure the pair of you had a good laugh at my expense.”

It was his turn to look at me in confusion. “What?”

“Was your fun worth it?”

He eyed me strangely. “What are you blathering on about?”

“Tell me, once my father was dead, did you two stay up all night scripting the next several years worth of conversations? Did my performance disappoint? Or was I an easy target for your games?”

"Harry, your eyes are wrong,” he replied urgently. “You must have taken a blow to the head when your uncle struck you."

“Liar!” I hadn’t hit my head. No, wait. I hadn't _thought_ I hit my head. My pain was in my shoulder, neck, back and ribs. That was all nothing compared to the pain in my heart.

The darkness was back with a vengeance, and I advanced on him again. This time much more slowly.

I saw what lurked behind his eyes. His earlier assurances that he could never fear me made a liar out of him. Then again, I supposed I already called his bluff on that point.

“Did it make you feel alive, knowing you were able to influence another person? Did you think me too dumb to ever figure it out? That I wouldn't someday realize what you were up to? Did you ever stop to consider the consequences of what you two were doing to me? Or what I'd become when you were through?"

My words were spoken much too calmly. I wasn't sure what that meant.

I saw him react. By the look of things he wanted to rip me a new one, but he bit back his reply, set his mouth in a grim line, and said nothing.

"And what have I become? Answer me that, if you can." I slowly bared my teeth in a twisted parody of a smile.

He found his voice before I could lay into him again. “This is not you speaking. Your confusion is not uncommon, but it can be overcome. You were right when you said I’d deceived you. It wasn’t by choice. It was never by choice. Time and again I attempted to loosen the hold I seemed to have over your heart. It’s a kind heart, Harry. It’s too kind and too easily broken. I tried to put you on your guard against your uncle. My feeble attempts to give you insight into his character and the heart of his plans failed. I failed you and for that I am truly sorry.”

I was stopped short. Bob didn’t make a habit out of apologizing. I studied him. He seemed sincere, but I was on my guard. I listened as he continued speaking. “I may have been your uncle's servant, but in my heart I've always been yours.”

I blinked back the sting of tears. His words had mesmerized me.

“And forever I shall remain if you will only stop and listen to yourself. Do the words sound right to your ears? Listen to what I'm telling you. Darkness is trying to possess you. It will overpower you if you don't gain control. Acknowledge its prescence and face it head on. You’re wounded, yes, but your will is strong. You'll come out the other side the victor and be stronger for it.

"If you lose your footing, know that I'm standing here before you. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I would fight the Darkness and I would fight you. I’d use every means at my disposal to win. And if I failed and you were lost, I’d brave the torments of Hell to have you restored to me."

He paused for breath. When he spoke again, his voice was no longer gentle. "And believe you me once you returned, I would find a way to knock you flat on your arse for being so easily overtaken! If your mind weren’t muddled, you’d know by that alone that I spoke the truth. Look deep down inside and pull yourself up before it’s too late. I will not lose you, Harry.”

They were the words of a desperate man. He’d known I’d wanted to hear them from the start. Well, maybe not those precise words, but they were good. Damn good. That was powerful stuff. Too powerful. He definitely knew how to stop me in my tracks. What I didn’t know was why he’d bothered. I was steadily growing wise to his tricks. He was only trying to save his own skin - skull - whatever.

"Now permit me a look so that I may assess your injuries. Let me see what damage has been done." He reached out a hand for me.

I flinched back from him. In my need to get away, I stumbled over the splintered piece of one of the table legs and almost fell on my ass. "Stay the hell away from me,” I spat. He was bound to his skull and the invisible thread that tethered him wouldn’t allow him any closer. It kept me out of his reach. _"Your touch is poison."_ I'd added those last words for pure spite. Even as I heard myself say them, I realized they hadn't come from me.

He seemed unaffected by my words, but he lowered his hand. His expression held only concern. "Harry...there’s something wrong inside.”

“No shit!" He opened his mouth to speak again, but I cut him off. I didn’t want to hear anymore of his lies, and hardened my heart. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"

It was apparently my evening for firsts. I rarely used that word and I’d never said it to him. I’d never even come close. It was a big deal to me, but he let my curse roll off him as if it were nothing.

“Language, my dear, sweet boy,” he cautioned. I could see that cunning mind of his planning and plotting. "We don't have time for one of your tantrums. You will get ahold over yourself. Now."

That did it.

He wasn't my father and I wasn't a kid. I hadn't been for a long time. And tantrum didn’t even begin to cover what was going on inside my head.

My life was a lie layered in lies. I‘d been played for a fool. I’d been trained and conditioned from the time I’d moved into my uncle’s home into becoming this dark thing that was capable of murder. This wasn’t a tantrum. It was a knife in my chest. It was heartache and betrayal that cut me so deep that I could feel its fine point protruding from my back. Killing me.

_'Some knife,'_ I thought vaguely. _'Some throw.'_ That took talent.

I realized that I’d been nothing more than a pawn - a mere chess piece - to my uncle. I was absolutely nothing to Bob.

That wasn’t completely true. I was a pet project my uncle had given him. I was something to pass away the idle hours. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to hurt him; I wanted to draw blood. “I’m not your _anything_ anymore…” I spoke the words slowly and with as much cruelty as I could muster.

My words were childish at best. I wasn't up to my usual witticisms or snappy comebacks and the words sounded wrong to my ears. I was flailing in the dark with this new creature in front of me. It had such a familiar face that I found it hard to look at him.

He blinked. There was the slightest intake of breath as he swayed from the force of my verbal blow. He loosely folded his arms over his chest as though protecting his heart. It was a sure sign that I’d struck a chord.

I was thrilled with my small victory, but it didn’t last. He recovered too quickly for my tastes.

"Pay attention, Harry," he demanded.

"Don’t you tell me what to do!"

"Petulance does you no credit," he said. His tone was reasonable, like that of chastisement from a beloved schoolmarm.

I glared at him, but stopped shouting.

He speared me with his expression of triumph and narrowed his eyes in further calculation. "Good boy.”

I glowered at him. _'If looks could kill…'_

“Listen carefully," he reasoned. "As thrilling as it is for me to be standing here watching this downward spiral into madness, and while I even admire your spirit and can applaud your efforts to incinerate me on the spot, now is not the time for it. Put it on hold."

I hadn't realized my own intentions until he called me on them. I stopped trying to incinerate him.

"Thank you. Now the hour is growing short. This is a dangerous time for both you and for me. The evening’s events have left me without direction. You must claim ownership of my skull before another does.”

“Why should I?” I challenged.

“Harry, you’re ill. You’re fixating on an idea that’s inherently wrong. Your confusion is distorting your perception of me. You were struck a blow to the head with enough force behind it to rattle even that marginally sized brain of yours. So I’ll forgive your lapse in judgment, but I’ll have you thinking on your feet again. Make no mistake about that. Help will be arriving shortly, but I need for you to perform this one act of magic before they come.

"Otherwise they will take possession of my skull. They will not allow you to be entrusted with it. I’ll be taken from you, and you’ll never see me again. It may not mean much to you at present, but when you recover and awaken from this idée fixe of yours it will matter a great deal. I refuse to be one of your regrets. It will eat away at you and I’ll not have that. I realize that circumstances have transpired to shake you to your very foundations, but I’ll remain faithful if only you claim the skull as your own.”

I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him, but as he’d said, I couldn’t trust my own judgment. It was beginning to dawn on me that there might've been some truth to his words. I could feel the rightness in his statement.

Struggling between fact and fiction, I was trying to separate truth from lies. I was spiraling out control, so I looked for something tangible to hold on to.

I turned and looked down at my uncle. There was physical evidence. There was the proof of my deception. Everything I loved turned to dust at my feet. I’d been alone inside the enemy’s stronghold. I’d been alone all along and hadn’t even realized it.

I turned back to Bob. I didn’t want his skull, nor was I going to be swayed by him. “Never.”

His expression turned cold and I could see the gears turning and working behind his eyes. He grinned at me, but there was no warmth or affection behind it. “I’m like a plague, Harry," he singsonged. "A disease. I hide in plain sight all the while working and perfecting my craft in the shadows. I bend and twist my words to suit my purposes and lure in the innocent and unsuspecting. And when they are finally in my grasp, I corrupt from within.”

His voice was like ice, and getting colder by the second. “But you already know that, don’t you. You’ve seen my handiwork in action. You are my handiwork and don’t flatter yourself into believing you were the first. It’s a game I like to play. It keeps me occupied and out of worse mischief.”

I felt myself responding to his words. I growled deep down low in my throat.

“The High Council often sends the young ones to do their dirty work. They’re foolish and expendable. And they’re about to come knocking on our door. The Council’s agents are oftentimes looking to prove themselves in some manner or other. They know something of my reputation, but not all. Unlike like you, they haven’t the insight into my trappings. I’m a servant without a master and they’ll feel the pull toward temptation. They’ll seek me out. I know you, Harry. You wouldn’t want another to suffer a similar fate. To have them duped, as you were, by this scurrilous phantom. "

"I wonder," he continued. "Would they heed your words of warning against me? You’ll blunder through in your usual fashion and try to protect them from themselves. It might even come to blows. Tell me. Would you kill them in your failed attempt to save them from my clutches? Would you add more deaths to your conscience?”

“I’ll find another way to stop you.”

“I think not. Nobody can stop me. I'm a trickster spirit, Harry. Someone would have to come along with the knowledge of my true nature. Who could see through me. They alone would stand a chance. Only that person could claim ownership my skull and force me toe the line. It really is quite unfortunate for the young blood that you made such a hasty decision regarding their fate. But I thank you. I've been needing a change in surroundings.”

I knew he was trying to trick me into making a rash decision, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. I thought quickly. “I could destroy your skull. I don’t have to take possession of it.”

“It doesn’t work that way, my darling. Others far more powerful than you made certain of that long ago.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed Bob about the skull’s indestructibly, but I couldn’t stand idly by and do nothing with threats such as those looming in the air. I made a decision despite myself.

“I’ll bind your service to me,” I said through clenched teeth.

“What? You would put yourself out for another? My, my, my. Aren't we suddenly heroic. Could I not change your mind, dissuade you from taking such a course of action? I was so looking forward to a new challenge.”

“I said that I'd bind you!” I snapped. "Now shut up and leave them alone!"

“You don’t control me just yet, Harry,” he warned. “Sometimes I despair of you. You really are no fun," he said with a sigh. "I suppose there are worse things than being bound to you. There already was a tie that bound us, after all.” He stopped and looked at me. His expression was almost apologetic. “Forgive the pun, I find myself growing weary of this game. The skull’s on the table in the study. Bring it back and be quick. Tick tock."

He really didn't want me anywhere near his skull. All I wanted to do was find a way to rend preternatural flesh and shatter bone, but I couldn’t see an alternative.

I moved around him warily, alert for any sign of deception. His eyes followed my every step, but he made no move to touch me.

I found the skull easily. Somehow I behaved myself and brought it back to the hallway.

It had taken almost everything I had to perform that simple task.

Maybe I _was_ sick.

~*~

I’d dreamed of this moment often when I was younger. When Bob was no longer my uncle’s servant, but mine. I always thought how great it would be. How one day we could go out and try to save the world. We’d be just a boy and his skull out there fighting the good fight, defending others who had no way to defend themselves against the bad guys or the things that lurked deep within the shadows and went bump in the night.

I’m sure someone would laugh at that. In my defense it was a fantasy of an eleven-year-old. My imagination was teetering between the dreams of a kid and those of a young man. And they were good dreams.

Bob had laughed at my younger self when I’d confessed it to him. He'd called them my 'little quixotic crusades.' I hadn’t understood what he meant. So he'd explained that I reminded him of Don Quixote, the fictional character for which the term had been coined after. He'd then had me find the book from my uncle’s library. We'd gone over the text together.

I’d always known that I wasn’t Don Quixote. He’d seen windmills and mistaken them for giants. My problem, I realized, standing there looking over at Bob, was that in my innocence I’d seen a giant and fooled myself into believing he was as harmless as any windmill. My inner child had tricked me into believing that Bob was simply a victim of circumstance.

I'd thought that perhaps, together, our adventures could earn a few redemption points for a doomed soul trapped without reprieve along the way. Looking across from him as I held his skull, I realized that this was Hrothbert of Bainbridge and there was no salvation for him. I’d been courting danger all along. And after everything was all said and done, I was now the one in need of redemption.

The ancient spell that bound his service to me turned to ashes in my mouth.

I watched the golden light swirl around him, making him stiffen in agony under the new ownership. The process looked painful, but he suffered in silence. It left him weak. I stood there dispassionate to the events and watched him try to recover.

He was mine now. Mine to command.

And what was my will?

The newly awakened darkness inside had an easy answer to that question. _'Die!'_ I heard the words echoing around in my head, but refused to let them escape my control.

He was still Bob. The one who danced so gracefully between all the many roles he played in my life. He’d been my teacher - a father figure when I had need of one - the friend who could make me grin or kick my ass with a mere glance. He was my cranky-assed ghost who would spend hours working on old formulas or nurturing his unhealthy addiction for those god awful romances of his that so often bewitched him and sometimes made him weep.

This spirit knew all my secrets, but one. And even of that I sometimes suspected he was aware. He might not have given a damn about me, but I certainly cared about him.

The little boy inside cried out for his lost friend. _'Tell me just once that I’d meant something to you.'_ I could make him say it, but it wouldn’t have made it real.

Instead I growled my disgust. “Get back in your skull, _Ghost_.”

He blinked rapidly, his eyes a little too bright all of the sudden. I never called him anything but Bob. I took unholy satisfaction in discovering something to finally strike him with.

Who knew that my words said without the aid of magic could pack such a delightful wallop?

I reveled in it for a few second or three before I turned away from him ashamed.

“Harry…please…”

“Now, Bob! Don’t make me have to tell you again!”

"As you wish," he replied. He'd spoken quietly, and accepted his fate as though he had a choice. With that he was gone. Coldness whipped tentatively around my hand for a moment, and then I could feel the small whoosh of air and smoke as it entered back inside its prison.

“As I wished?” I almost laughed. "What would my three wishes be, Genie?" I scoffed aloud. That was easy. _“Bring back my mother. Bring back my father. Take back my sin.”_ I did laugh a little then.

My body protested so I stopped laughing. It hadn’t been a good sound anyway.

In my anger I debated throwing his skull against the wall. It would be so easy to lose myself, to revel in the darkness of it. I felt the ancient bone start to give under my hand as I squeezed hard.

At that moment I could have done it. I could have seen once and for all if it was possible to destroy a bound spirit or if the bindings tethering him to his skull would ultimately protect him like he’d said. I wanted to find out. That _thing_ could’ve even had a hand in murdering my mother.

One would think that would’ve spurned me into action, but it had the opposite effect. The thoughts of my mother stopped me, and my death grip on the skull loosened.

I brought Bob's skull to my chest. My face was wet. I had no memory of crying.

Long ago I remembered telling Dad that if I ever found the thing that killed Mom, I’d rip its heart out. They were a child's words. They’d been spoken with a child's ignorance.

I’d always been told that there was a thin line between love and hate. I'd already crossed it once tonight and I wasn't about to cross it again.

I had to gain control of myself.

Justin Morningway was a dark wizard. Morningway blood might have flowed through my veins, but so did my father's. "My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden." I invoked my own name in an effort to give me a little strength and to snap myself out of this mad, berserker anger I had going. "My last name is Dresden, and I am my father's son."

My father was a good man, a kind man. I wasn’t about to let the rage overwhelm me.

My thoughts returned to Bob. What had he really been up to with all that binding ritual crap?

I might have been out of my mind, but I knew him too well. Or at least I thought I had. Before my falling out with my uncle the answer would have been simple. He wanted to be with me. He was used to me.

My suspicion was roused. He could be a master manipulator when the mood suited him, and he knew that my uncle and I had never gotten along. Had Bob known what would one day transpire between us? Had he somehow made preparation for it?

I tried to reason it out.

If I were a sneaky-assed, conniving, son of a bitch trapped in my own skull, my thoughts would be of freedom. What would be better then to slowly turn one wizard against the other? When the inevitable happened, I'd convince the weakened victor to stay behind and take the fall. I’d stall him and divert his attention from my true purposes with flowery words of devotion that could only have come from the pages of some bad 19th century bodice ripper...

"Oh, Christ!" I wouldn't have, personally, but I could see Bob doing it. I'd always told him those things were going to rot his damn mind.

Only --

I lost my train of thought. Cursing, I struggled to find it again. I felt it was somehow important.

Oh, yeah. There it was.

I’d stall for time. Perhaps I'd keep his mind occupied with the ritual of binding. It was really more for show than any real magical significance. It wouldn't bind us unto death. I'd have to serve the one who possessed the skull, that was true, but the ritual itself was more presentation. It was flash and dazzle; smoke and mirrors. I doubted it would’ve meant a damn thing if the skull were stolen or forcibly taken away, but it could supply further evidence of evil intent with such a ritual.

The High Council wouldn’t be granted their say, nor would they have given their consent under such circumstances. I’d be effectively killing two wicked little birds with one stone, and perhaps expunging a few of my own sins and securing my freedom in the bargain.

“Dammit, Bob! What were you thinking? What the hell were you thinking?”

I had no way of knowing if any or all of my assumptions were correct. It was hard to read him on a good day, and I wasn’t exactly playing with a full deck. I felt like the walking dead. I was wounded deep inside and my injuries weren’t entirely physical. I was in trouble.

I was tired and sick. There was too much injury - too much blood on my hands - and the night was still young.

Looking back with clearer vision, I might one day realize that I should have heeded Bob's counsel. Only the need to run away and lick my wounds was too strong to ignore. And that was to say nothing of my paranoid delusions. They were making my head spin.

~*~

Bob's skull was still in my hand. I held it up to the light. _“Alas, poor Yorick..._ I thought I knew you well."

”Hell’s bells,” I swore softly. I must’ve been hit harder than I thought to wax poetic like that. Bob would’ve pitched a fit over the exhibition.

My attention turned back to the skull. My retribution was too swift for the likes of the doomed Prince of Denmark. Hamlet, I was not. Although through the machinations of my uncle, I’d been poisoned just the same.

_“Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end...”_

“Star’s above…” Not only was I waxing poetic, but I was mixing up my Shakespeare now, too. Bob would definitely kick my ass if he knew. Hell, he’d flay me alive.

If I wasn’t Hamlet, I certainly wasn’t one of a pair of star-crossed lovers. Neither he, nor I even remotely resembled those two lovebirds. We were hardly likely to die for each other.

I moved as fast as I dared through the house. It had never been my home, but I knew all its secret corners and hiding places. I hid Bob’s skull under a floorboard and mouthed a spell to guard it both from harm and all-seeing eyes.

I almost fell over. My energy was near spent, and I still had to get away. I had to go to ground somewhere below the High Council’s radar.

That was almost impossible, but I was a wizard. I dealt with impossibilities everyday. I would survive even if it killed me.

Then again, maybe I wanted to die. Just curl up and go to sleep. I wasn’t going to lower myself into quoting the _to be or not to be_ speech. I was through with dreams.

"I'll deal with you later," I promised, directing my comments towards the floor.

The enforcers were coming and they would find me, but I didn’t have to make it easy for them.

If by some chance I was permitted to live after what I’d done, I was tempted to come back and burn the place to the ground.

I was definitely going to break that old blackboard with its endless supply of chalk in the study. I was going to burn every last spell book I could find.

If I didn’t have them, I wouldn’t be tempted to use them. I’d flipped through the eldest of those grimoires a time or two. I knew what dark things lurked inside those pages. It was some pretty nasty stuff.

It no longer surprised me that Bob had been the one to pen them.

I stumbled out the door. I’d taken nothing with me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d somehow managed to become nothing more than a thief in the night just the same.

 

The End.

 


End file.
